Memories, or Lack Thereof
by Ink Mage
Summary: A better explanation as to why Erik hates Charles. One-shot, but with a likely sequel.


_A.N. Hey guys! This is a one-shot, but it will probably have a sequel. The whole thing behind it was that I didn't believe that friends as close as Charles and Erik would become enemies so quickly after the Cuba Incident. This is my explanation for it. Nothing but the plot belongs to me. _

The first time he reappeared was a week after the Cuba Incident (Charles felt like the capital letters were vital in this situation). Erik had levitated himself onto Charles' balcony at the mansion, just to watch him sleeping. Instead, he had found Charles reading a book by the fire, resting in his wheelchair. The metal helmet that Erik always seemed to be wearing blocked his thoughts and emotions, but Charles watched them play across his face instead. The surprise, the realization, the grief… it was all there. Charles had opened the French doors to let Erik in, but the man turned and fled before they had made it halfway open.

The second time had been easier. Charles had been out in the park only a few days later, when Erik had sat on a nearby bench. They had sat together silently for almost an hour, just staring out across the park at the playground. Charles found himself wondering what was going through Erik's mind—because even though he was out in public, Erik still wore the helmet. He glared at anyone who stared at him, and they averted their eyes and hurried on. The pair sat for almost an hour, until Charles noticed Sean pulling up in his car to drive him home. As Charles turned to wheel himself away, Erik murmured gently, "I'm sorry." 'For what,' Charles wondered. Maybe for the bullet that had pierced his spine, maybe for leaving him at the moment when Charles needed him most, maybe for leaving him at all. Charles didn't know how to answer to the apology. He just reached over to touch Erik's knee, and rolled himself away.

Erik began to visit more and more often. He did it secretly, late at night or when the boys were out of the mansion. Sometimes they chatted like old friend, discussing the new books that they had read, or new political movements. Sometimes they would just sit quietly over a chess game or a glass of wine. There were even times when Erik wouldn't enter Charles' room. He would sit on the balcony and stare out over the grounds, and Charles would read his book by the window just in case Erik decided that he wanted to talk after all. There were subjects that were taboo though—they never discussed Cuba, or the rising media-deemed 'mutant crisis'. Erik only mentioned Raven in passing—enough so that Charles knew she was okay, but without filling him with sorrow over her loss. Charles extended the same courtesy in regards to the boys.

But even as a quiet companionship developed between the two, Charles knew that it couldn't last. Erik still insisted on wearing his helmet whenever they were together, and the blank silence often gave him a headache as his telepathy unconsciously searched for a mind in the figure in front of him. If they ever met outside of their secret discussions they wouldn't react, but the silences were unavoidably strained when they met later. There had been one faithful encounter—both the recently dubbed X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants had been trying to recruit a boy who could create ice, and the confrontation got physical—which had left Magneto with several cracked ribs. Charles hadn't been at the battle, but he had still been left to deal with Erik's stormy glares and ill-tempered mutterings for at least a dozen meetings afterwards. Sometimes Charles wished that they would fight. That Erik would bring up Cuba, or that he himself would yell at Erik for his carelessness with Shaw. Maybe it would clear the air. Then, one night, Charles got his wish.

"You don't understand, Charles!" The exclamation burst forth from Erik's lips as he paced across the bedroom floor. Charles didn't know how they had gotten to this point. They had merely been discussing George Orwell's '1984'. Charles had made mention to the Thought Police being similar to telepaths. Erik had sneered while saying, "Charles, we're the ones that are being persecuted by the government—not the enforcers!" The argument had progressed from there as each of them tried to convince the other that mutants could work alongside humans or that mutants would be prosecuted until they took over. Charles snapped out of his musings as the metal around the room began to vibrate, including his wheelchair. As soon as it began, the wheelchair stopped moving. Erik looked stricken, his face white with guilt and fear. 'Yes,' Charles thought to himself, 'look at what you did to me. Look at the pain you caused me—are still causing me.' And as usual when things got too personal, Erik fled. Charles stared at the open doors, and knew that something had to change. This constant on-off relationship was killing him, and was probably killing them both. And then Charles thought of the answer.

When Erik returned almost a week later, he arrived with a French Chardonnay and a copy of 'Romeo and Juliet'—clearly remembering that Charles enjoyed Shakespeare when he was feeling upset. Charles felt a guilty twinge at what he was about to do. He had been debating it with himself all week. The necessity of it clashed with his moral values; but this time, the necessity was winning. Before Erik could react, Charles wrenched the helmet from his head and dove into his mind. He forced himself to tune out Erik's panicked thoughts ('Charles? What are you doing in there? You promised not to read my mind, you promised! Get out of there now! Please, no!') and focus on the task at hand. With a little prompting, the memories that he was searching for rose to the front of Erik's mind. Charles started with Cuba—turning the bullet that Erik had sent into his spine into a mistaken rebound. Then (as much as it hurt him) Charles warped the memory of the 'divorce'. He forced Erik to believe that Charles had refused to accept the killing of Shaw, and had ostracized him for it. He wove tendrils of rage and hurt and hatred around Erik's memories of him. The nights that he pair had spent together were replaced with memories of research on the mansion, searching for Nazi criminals, even a movie. And slowly, Charles erased all evidence of their friendship.

When the pair woke, Charles could see a new light in Erik's—no, Magneto's—eyes. The hateful sneer looked foreign to Charles. Even in their most heated arguments, Erik had never looked at him like that. That look he had reserved for Shaw. "Professor," Erik said, his voice glassy with hate, "I don't know how you brought me here. But if I find myself here again, or find my memory tampered with…" Again, the metal in the room rattled, and Charles' chair joined in. But this time it was intentional, and that made the experience infinitely scarier. And as Magneto left for the last time, Charles sat on his wheelchair and tried desperately to pretend that the loss of his friend hadn't broken his heart.


End file.
